Standard Deviation
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Cop!AU 'verse. The best opportunities are often borne of chance. The key, especially for impulsive people like James T. Kirk, is knowing when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Standard Deviation

**Author**: Gixxer Pilot

**Beta**: The most supremely awesome Wicked Jade

**Summary**: Cop!AU 'verse. The best opportunities are often borne of chance. The key, especially for impulsive people like James T. Kirk, is knowing when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.

**Author's Notes**: I love people who are unpredictable or multifaceted. I also love music. And (obviously) I love Star Trek and writing (duh!). So, it seemed rather natural that I'd combine all of that in a shaker, give it a whirl, and serve it with a side of cop!verse AU. Chronologically, this fic takes place about a year and a half before Accidentally on Purpose. Kirk's been a cop for all of six months, and the honeymoon period for Jim and Bones is about to end. Fortunately, Pike's there to help avert the nuclear disaster that could end the best partnership in Iowa City before it really even gets going.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing recognizable in this story - not Star Trek or any of the music you'll see. I do this for fun and will never make any kind of profit from it. I just enjoy it, and I hope you all do, too.

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**Chapter 1**

So _this_ was what an ethical dilemma looked like.

When he was blasting through the compulsory classroom training, Jim's professors warned him that one day, he would inevitably face some sort of test of his character. It was something that all cops went through; whether the situation was the subjugation of bad apple peer pressure or just plain shitty luck, nearly every police officer was well aware that the temptation to be dishonest would always be a black spot in the world of law enforcement, or in any position of power. How he would respond to that test would be a benchmark for the rest of his career, in both his own mind and in the eyes of his peers.

However, Jim wasn't entirely convinced that _anything_ his college instructors taught him about ethics was exactly applicable to his current conundrum. In his hands, Kirk held an object. It was something that did not belong to him, nor was the rightful owner aware he possessed it. Though it was taken in honest error, that fact would not deter the sole proprietor's feelings of anger, irritation or even embarrassment, should he know that the item was in the possession of the department's smart-assed noob. What he did with the aforementioned object, however, would likely define him as a cop, and as a person.

Jim got up and snagged a beer from the fridge. He popped the top and took a sip, letting the overstuffed couch cushions soak up his body weight. A frustrated puff of air left Kirk's lips as he replayed the events of the day in his head.

It truly was a simple mistake, a comedy of errors that lead the young officer to his test of character. Jim was sitting Lieutenant Pike's office after a nice post-shift workout when the pair noticed the paddy wagon pulling in to drop off its latest round of drunk and disorderly charges. All was well for about five minutes, but as in most cases where alcohol was the main factor of causation, it only took a couple of correctly lobbed insults to re-ignite the powder keg all over again. Apparently, patrons from a wedding brawl decided they weren't done with the fireworks the cops had already broken up. They also thought that continuing their disagreements in the intake of the county jail was a good idea. The cops at the station, however, begged to differ.

Still in their running shoes and workout clothes, both Kirk and Pike ran down to the holding area to assist the overwhelmed intake officers. Jim and Chris, along with McCoy, Serdeski, and the officers assigned to the jail eventually identified and separated the combatants, sending each side to separate cells to cool off. The crisis averted, Kirk hit the showers before he left for the night. He and McCoy had the next two days off, and Jim fully planned on using them to their every last extent. With the Labor Day holiday one week past, no one had gotten much of a chance for rest or relaxation leading up to and during the long weekend. With his days off, Kirk was looking forward to being simply Jim for a few days instead of Officer Kirk.

Jim hung out for an extra ten minutes to help out the shift change at the jail. When he was relatively sure all the combatants were safely tucked into their time out chairs and the jail back firing on all cylinders, he ran back to Pike's office to snag his iPod from the lieutenant's desk where he dropped it before the melee began. Kirk tossed it in his bag, snatched a piece of chocolate from the dish Pike had squirreled away in the corner of his office and waltzed out the door. Jim studiously packed and tied down all his gear on the tail of his bike before setting out for home. It wasn't until he was unloading his rank and disgusting clothes from the bag did he realize his mistake, and that brought all his plans for the evening to a screeching, shaking halt.

He should, at this point of the evening, be working his way through his voluptuous black book in search of a bit of companionship. And by 'companionship', what Jim really meant was 'blow job'. But instead, he was sitting alone in his apartment, staring at the inadvertently obtained gadget, all the while wondering if the pain of a dislocated shoulder would be worth any type of embarrassing secrets the little piece of technology might hold. If he caved to his desires and peeked, he might find a treasure trove of blackmail-worthy material that could provide him a trump card for years to come. But, it might also get him the most severe beating of his life. Even with a surgically reconstructed right leg and enough titanium in his body to cause major concerns with the TSA, Lieutenant Pike could still open up a can of whoop ass like nobody's business.

Kirk tapped his chin with the end of the beer bottle, wincing when he accidentally whacked his teeth with the lip. He stood up and started pacing again, staring at the black device sitting innocently on his coffee table. Jim nearly laughed out loud. The irony of the situation was that, for once in his life, James Kirk, whose middle initial Bones often swore stood for '_Trouble_', wasn't trying to cause a ruckus. He wanted nothing more that to disappear for the weekend and be an anonymous person much like the rest of the population. On one hand, Kirk knew he should respect Pike's confidentiality (especially as a three month old rookie cop), stick the device in his bag, and give it back on Monday.

But the proper thing was not the _Kirk_ thing. However, Jim did at least give himself a small pat on the back for at least pondering whether to hack the damned thing in the first place. A few years ago, it wouldn't have even crossed his mind that he was about to invade another person's privacy. He'd have just done it. Now, at least he felt a small measure of guilt for what he was about to do. Granted, his thoughts were a bit narcissistic and borne of the pragmatic desire not to be shot, but they were there. He blamed his training officer for that, dammit. Jim rolled his eyes at the thought. _Thanks, McCoy_.

Jim cracked his knuckles loudly in the kitchen of his apartment. He turned around and glared at the iPod sitting on his coffee table. Fuck it. Kirk smiled evilly and made his choice, walking quickly over to the table and snagging the device from where it sat perched on top of the latest copy of ESPN: The Magazine. He powered the iPod on and started snooping with gusto.

Oh yes, Pike might kill him, but it would be a beating well worth it.

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**Next Up**: McCoy wishes that he wasn't so curious, and Kirk proves that despite the badge and gun, he hasn't quite purged himself of his delinquent ways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: I would have posted this yesterday, but the season finales of NCIS and NCIS: LA shot that plan straight to hell. (Gix's sidenote rant: WTF is with all the explosions in season finales this year? Like, do we have to blow up _everything_ in all the procedurals? Come on. I am nothing but a lowly fan fiction writer, but I dare say I could find something more original than that. Okay. I'm done. Hopping down off my soapbox now.)

Anyway, apologies for the teaser I posted on Monday. I don't normally do stuff like that (you all know how long my chapters usually are), but I couldn't help crawling around in Kirk's head like that. The rest of the story is much more full-bodied, so hopefully it makes up for it. Here's chapter two. As always, comments are loved. Enjoy!

**Disclaime**r: I only wish I owned them. Sadly, I do not and make no monetary profit from this fic.

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**Chapter 2**

"Bones. Bones. Bones."

"For Chrissake, kid. I'm busy." McCoy rolled his eyes behind his newspaper. He was tempted to roll it up and use it to smack Jim upside the head, but in the end, that would be a waste of perfectly good paper.

Besides which, there had to be a man law somewhere that expressly forbade half of what Jim did on a regular basis. Among other things, there was no way any self respecting adult male should be allowed to carry out a conversation through a flimsy metal bathroom stall door while still maintaining his dignity. Shaking his head, McCoy glared through the tiny gap between the door and the wall while he tried not to dwell on just how absurd his life had become.

Outside the door, Jim sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "Clearly. Man, that's rank. What the hell did you eat?"

"Football chili. And you're the one standing there, idiot," McCoy retorted, disappointed that the growly death stares had no visible effect on Jim whatsoever.

"Well, do me a favor and take care of that before you get in the car," Kirk replied, waving a hand in front of his face. "God, that's so bad it should be illegal."

"I'll get right on that as soon as I've got some privacy. That means you leave. Now." He looked back down at his paper, and then up again at Jim when he realized the kid hadn't moved. With a dramatic sigh, McCoy hissed out an irritated, "What?"

"You will not believe what I found," Kirk whispered conspiratorially, even though executing a private conversation in a room with the acoustics of a high-ceiling cave was nigh on impossible.

Annoyed, McCoy swore. "If you're not going to tell me that you finally found maturity, fuck off for the next ten minutes and leave me in peace. You're weirding me out standing there."

"But Bones! You won't believe-" Jim started, only to be cut off by his partner.

"I don't care! Go away. Go sign out a couple of radios and then go run in your hamster wheel to burn off all that excess energy I know you have. It wouldn't be proper if I shot you because you're an annoying little shit," McCoy said with a flourish of his hand. He focused back down on his paper, effectively ending the conversation.

Kirk knew when he was being dismissed, but he'd gotten his partner's attention. With a shrug, Jim executed a perfect about face and strode out of the locker room. He did as McCoy asked; he signed out a couple of radios, stopped by the break room to grab some terrible coffee, and then wandered aimlessly around the station house for a few minutes while he waited for McCoy to finish up.

He had never been so excited to report to work, save for maybe his first day. Jim hit the jackpot of all things unconventional when he started exploring his lieutenant's iPod. Granted, Kirk thought that Pike's musical selection would consist of Boring Old Man garbage, which meant country, country and some more very old country. But when he powered the thing on, he was pleasantly surprised (and a more than a little shocked) at what he found. Not only was it organized by playlists and genres, but Pike's selection was vast and eclectic.

The slim device turned out to be about six gigabytes deep, which, for someone who claimed that the extent of his technical expertise was making a bullet fly straight, that fact in itself was impressive. Chris (not that Jim would ever call the man that to his face because he wasn't _that_ stupid) apparently concentrated most of his musical taste in the classic rock and country genres, but next to four or five Montgomery Gentry songs sat a healthy selection of early-ish Metallica. (As a self-proclaimed metal head, Kirk was silently relieved to see nothing from the atrocity that was St. Anger on his lieutenant's iPod, thereby forgoing the metal intervention that would have otherwise been necessary.)

Kirk snagged the keys to their assigned cruiser and walked to the car. He unlocked the door and settled into the passenger's seat, propping one foot up on the dash before sticking the key in the ignition. McCoy was certainly taking his sweet-ass time today, and Kirk's impatience was starting to get the better of him. Jim had a laundry list of things he wanted to follow up on from the day previous, but he couldn't go anywhere without his partner. While he wiated, Jim let his mind wander as he tried to make heads or tails of the data he'd accidentally discovered.

He always thought that a person's taste in music said a lot about their personality. Usually, Kirk was right on the nose with what he could see the people around him listening to, and it helped solidified his people radar's accuracy. But the fact that Jim could have misread Pike so badly both intrigued and troubled him. On one hand, Kirk was glad to know that there were apparently way more layers to Christopher Pike that he'd initially thought. But, if he couldn't even read a man whom he saw nearly every day of his professional existence correctly, that didn't quite bode well for correctly deciphering the complexities of the criminal element.

"Finally," Jim muttered when he saw McCoy approaching, shaking off the rare, self-depreciating thoughts on his own competency. He checked his watch as Bones opened the door and settled inside. "What, were you trying to set a record in there? Are we going to have to fumigate the locker room?"

Out of the corner of his eye, the sergeant shot Jim a look and rolled his eyes. He reached for the keys he knew would be in the ignition and turned them, allowing the car to rumble to life. McCoy shifted out of park and into drive and accelerated smoothly out of the parking lot and on to the street. They drove in silence for a few miles, making their way toward the assigned patrol area. At a stoplight, McCoy turned in his seat and asked Kirk, "Now, what the hell was so important this morning?"

"Did you ever get the feeling you were wrong about something?" Kirk asked, flipping through his notebook. He pulled the pen from the pocket of his shirt and scribbled a few more words on the already cluttered sheet, circling and underlining as he went.

McCoy snorted. "Every damned day, kid." Easing the car through the green light, Bones chanced a peek over toward Kirk. Jim's head was still down, face knit in concentration as he tapped the pen against the pad. McCoy sighed, knowing he was about to take the bait. "What's got that brain of yours going this time?"

"Pike."

Lifting a contemplative eyebrow, McCoy parroted, "Pike?"

"Yeah, Lieutenant Pike. Our fearless leader," Jim responded as innocently as he dared. Too much sweetness and Bones would instantly put the kibosh on anything he might say; too nonchalant and McCoy would think he was joking.

Giant, red, flashing lights started circling McCoy's vision, accompanied by the rather annoying ringing of warning sirens in his head. Kirk's face had that poorly disguised mischievous look plastered all over it, his eyes twinkling in delight. The kid tried in vain to sit still, even though the only result was that Jim looked just that side of devilish. Len narrowed his eyes. Something felt terribly off, and the last time McCoy got a similar feeling in his gut, he wound up babysitting intake for a week while the chief contemplated the future of his job. "Jim," Bones warned, drawing out the vowel of Kirk's first name. "You've got that look again."

"What look?" Jim asked, doing his level best to look completely innocent.

"The look you get when you're about to tell me you did something stupid, which is the moment _right_ before you suck me into whatever bullshit you managed to get yourself into this time," McCoy retorted at Jim, even thought the lecture was directed as much at himself as it was towards his partner.

"Yeah, whatever. You over exaggerate."

McCoy muttered something rude under his breath.

"Come on, man! I'm not in trouble, no one wants to beat me up, and that stuffy bastard from IA still thinks I broke the chief's windshield with the potato bazooka, not you. But really, Bones. Do you ever wonder what Pike is like away from the job?" Kirk asked while neatly sidestepping McCoy's semi-heartfelt rant.

"No. I rode with the guy for long enough, and I know what he's like." Bones glanced over at Jim, all the pieces of the mental puzzle sliding into place. Face twisting in honest horror, McCoy said, "Oh, no. No, no, no. Leave him alone. There are rules, Jim, and part of those rules usually mean lieutenants are off limits. Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it. Don't even think about it."

"Too late," Jim replied, holding up the misappropriated iPod that he produced from the cargo pocket of his pants. Kirk was practically bouncing in his seat, showing off his prize with pride as if he'd invaded a Spanish galleon alone and stolen it from the clutches of a ruthless, famed pirate.

McCoy gaped. At least to the sergeant, it was a well-known fact that Lt. Pike rarely went anywhere without some form of music. When they rode together, he was always tapping out some sort of rhythm on the steering wheel as he drove, or humming something random in the car. It shouldn't have surprised Len that Pike was more than a proficient guitarist, but it did surprise him that Chris never mentioned the fact that he played. Pike was the opposite of his trainee in almost every conceivable way, so where McCoy was happy to keep his musical talents to himself, he never thought Chris would have done the same. When the two men literally ran into each other at a bar during open mic night, McCoy had been too shocked to even formulate a correctly punctuated insult. The then-sergeant beat him to it, Chris saying that it wasn't a secret if Leonard never asked.

McCoy sighed. He often wondered why Jim chose law enforcement as a career when he was clearly an expert at finding trouble. As a recovering juvenile delinquent, Len figured maybe Jim knew he'd be a good cop because he would know what to look for in the 'been there, done that,' sense of the phrase. It didn't help him now and with how pissed Chris would be when he discovered his missing iPod, but the thought was at least there. Raising one effortless eyebrow, McCoy asked, "You stole Pike's iPod?"

Jim shrugged. "Well, I didn't really steal it as much as I grabbed the wrong one."

"Semantics, Jim. You stole the thing. You also know how much Pike loves it. And now, you want my help in covering it up," McCoy scolded. The pessimistic part of his brain dived right for the worst case scenario, because it was Kirk. Nothing good came of Jim Kirk's bad behavior. With an emphatic shake of his head, Len said, "Not gonna happen." He contemplated turning the car straight around to go back to the station to personally hand the Lieutenant his property, if only to keep his ass out of hot water. He certainly wasn't afraid of Pike; he'd known the man for ten years and considered him a friend, but as the lieutenant held the duty roster, McCoy didn't want to push his luck with the man who could literally make his life a living hell with one swipe of a pen.

Kirk waved his hand, effectively cutting through McCoy's bullshit. "Would you relax, old man? Pike is not going to ground us for misbehaving, and I don't need your help with this. Your poker face is about as good as my grandma's, which is a nice way of saying that it sucks. I'd be better off on my own. Besides, this time, it was an honest mistake. Remember that scuffle down at intake on Friday?"

McCoy nodded. "Sure do. Damn drunk wedding party."

"That's the one. I was spotting for the lieutenant in the weight room right before that whole thing erupted, and I dropped my iPod on his desk when we ran down there to help out," Jim explained. "When I left, I took his by mistake. We have the same one, and they were lying side by side. I picked up his instead of mine. Simple as that."

Len eyed his partner warily. It sounded like a plausible story, and he was well aware that both Kirk and Pike were dressed in workout shorts and t-shirts when they sprinted into the jail intake area. He also knew that both his current partner and his former partner had black iPod classics, the same generation and about the same general age. For once, McCoy was forced to conclude that Jim's explanation wasn't full of shit with enough holes to sink the Titanic. He found himself looking for a calendar to write the date down for posterity's sake.

Contemplating Kirk's account silently, Len looked around and made sure no cars were approaching in either direction of the two-lane road. In the middle of the street, he threw the Charger into reverse and hopped the curb about twenty feet from the apex of a large, curving turn. Tucking the car between a road construction sign and a big tree, the only thing that was visible from around the bend was the car's push bars, and even then, it was debatable if every driver would see him. Kirk let out a low, appreciative whistle of their hiding spot. "Not bad, Bones."

"I really wish you would stop calling me that," McCoy replied, grimacing when Kirk applied his nickname for his partner.

Jim shrugged. "What? It's fitting for you. No one knows the real story, so would you just pull that stick out of your ass for five minutes and lighten up? It's good fun!"

McCoy grunted, rolling his eyes in the process. He shot one more glare in Kirk's direction, wondering for the thousandth time if Jim's loads of good cheer was some sort of a mental deficiency or if he really was that happy all the damned time. "Did you forget to take your medication this morning? You're more annoying than usual, and I don't mean that in a good way."

"I was complimenting your skill as a police officer. This is a damned good hiding spot, if I do say so myself. That's all I was doing," Jim said innocently. His mega-watt smile, the one that had women cooing and fawning all over themselves during traffic stops, was plastered all over his face. He knew it annoyed the shit out of his partner, and did it just because he could.

McCoy ignored Kirk, instead pulling out his notepad to address a couple of the items he'd written down to check out when he went back on duty after the weekend. On his to-do list for the week was, among other things, to slow down some of the traffic near a particularly troublesome intersection located in one of the working class neighborhoods of Iowa City. The four-way stop was at the end of a large curve of a blind intersection, and drivers always came around the corner too quickly and rear-ended each other or blew the stop sign completely. With the presence of an elementary school three blocks away and a new school year starting, McCoy thought some monetary reminders would be well served to get people to slow down.

Killing the engine, Bones got out of the car, popping the trunk as he stepped clear. He rummaged around in the back through the gear and eventually came up with the radar gun. He plopped back into driver's seat and aimed the device out his open window. Zeroing in on an approaching motorist, he said to Jim, "Now, about this iPod you stole from Pike."

"Borrowed," Kirk fired back.

"Stole."

"Took by mistake," Jim argued.

"_Stole_," McCoy repeated, this time with more ferocity in his voice.

"Whatever, Bones. I know you believe me. I saw the wheels in your head turning. You think so loudly, no one can miss it." Kirk didn't give McCoy any time to object, instead diving right into the whole reason he was so damned giddy. "So do you want to know what was on it?"

"No."

"Oh, come on! I know you do!" Kirk said as he jotted down the approximate year, make and model of the car Bones was radaring.

McCoy pressed the button to activate the laser on the gun. The reading flashed back at him as the silver Audi drove past. A couple of miles over the limit, the driver was within acceptable ranges of the posted speed. Len sighed and waited for the next car to approach. Without looking back, Len said, "Look kid, what the man listens to is his business. I rode with him long enough to know he likes classic rock and can do a mean impression of Bon Scott. Anything beyond that, I don't really care."

Kirk dangled a printed piece of paper in front of Bones' face. "Even if I have screenshots of the playlists? I was shocked that Lieu's musical tastes aren't as old as he is, and I think you'd want the dirt on him, too," Kirk said. Shifting in his seat, he tossed in a nonchalant, "If you cared. But you don't. And if you're going to be holier than thou about it, I'm not going to tell you his most played songs because I have that, too."

"I could just order you," McCoy tossed out.

Jim didn't miss a beat. "Well, then I'll go to Pike."

McCoy laughed a short, sarcastic bark that caught Jim by surprise. "And tell him what, exactly? That you stole his iPod, took the damned thing home for the night, and instead of doing the right thing and just giving it back, you hacked it to see what he listens to the most?"

"I didn't steal it," Jim mumbled, though without any real gusto. He turned to face his partner as McCoy zapped another car with the laser speed detector. Kirk caught a glimpse at the driver's recorded speed, and both decided to let the car go. Forty three in a forty mile per hour zone was still acceptable, at least in their minds. Kirk said his partner after Len reset the laser device, "Cut the bullshit, Bones. I know you want to see this list just as much as I did."

Under his breath, Len swore. He knew he should have just left well enough alone, but he had to bite. He cursed himself stupid for taking the bait with Jim, because now, damn it all, he was curious. He set his jaw and grumbled out, "No, Jim. I don't care. Put the damn thing away and concentrate on your job."

Len turned his eyes back to the road, concentrating on catching speeders and nothing else. There were times when McCoy really hated being the senior man, and this definitely qualified as one. As Pike once told him, sergeant stripes came with a heaping ton of extra responsibilities (none of which were that glamorous) to go along with a microscopically higher paycheck. At the time, Len thought Chris was bullshitting him. But experience really was the best teacher, and he was seeing more and more that his lieutenant had a point.

McCoy was also was experiencing life from the other side of the training spectrum. At that moment, he surmised if Pike had told him that the main chunk of his additional duties were to be filed under the subcategory of babysitting, he might have reconsidered the logic of taking the sergeant's exam in the first place. No, it was his job to keep Jim out of trouble and to teach the kid what Chris managed to drill into his rather dense skull. If that meant being the buzzkill from time to time, so be it.

It was just that, deep down, he really, _really_ did want to know what was on that iPod. But it also pained him like nothing else to admit that, especially to an infant like Kirk.

Jim could practically see the parade of logic marching through his partner's head. It was almost comical the way McCoy analyzed and overanalyzed every situation. Woe would be the day that Leonard would do sometime totally spontaneous or, god forbid, fun. Kirk was wondering if 'fun' was a four letter word in the McCoy household. Come to think of it, he didn't know what the adult McCoy did when he wanted to kick back and relax. '_Probably sits around at his house, watching History Channel for hours on end or something like that_,' Jim thought with a snort. Out loud, he said, "Come on, McCoy. Don't be such a hypocrite. You're really going to sit there and berate me for caving when you would do the same damned thing? Not cool, man. Not cool."

"And, what exactly would be 'cool', Jim? A week's worth of shit desk duty? Believe me – I have no intention of being handcuffed to you or to a desk for that long ever again, and if Pike were to pull us off patrol, that's exactly where we'd both be. I'm thinking of my sanity, thank you very much."

Kirk studied his partner's partial reflection given off by the windshield of the car. McCoy did have a point, but to Jim, the risk certainly didn't even come close to eclipsing the reward. But before he could respond, a black BMW raced around the corner at well more than the posted limit. Neither cop needed the radar gun to prove that. Kirk was already buckling his seat belt before McCoy, who barely had time to hit the button to grab an accurate speed for court later on, turned the keys in the ignition and gunned the engine.

"Whoa!" Kirk exclaimed. "Got one!"

"No shit." Len tossed the radar gun into Kirk's lap. The rear-wheel drive Charger's tires spun, laying down a nice patch of rubber on the sidewalk that McCoy was sure he'd catch hell for later. But, the dark flash of M5 was flying so quickly that use of the Charger's ample horsepower was required, if not a little bit fun. Len hopped the curb with the car, cranked the wheel hard right while power sliding just a teensy, tiny bit, and took off in pursuit.

Kirk dropped the pieces of printed out screen capture from Pike's iPod onto the floor of the car and called into dispatch to alert the controllers of their location and signal. Luckily, the flashing lights and sirens were enough to deter the driver of the speedy sports sedan, and he wisely pulled over and stopped as soon as he was able. Both cops exhaled a sigh of relief, as neither wanted to be involved in drawn out chase. Though Jim was an adrenaline junkie extraordinaire, the supreme mountain of paperwork involved in chasing a suspect through the city was staggering. And vast. And annoying. And ridiculous. It was the downside of police work that no one really bothered to mention until it had to be done. With Kirk being the new guy, most of if McCoy delegated to him with barely concealed glee. The older man claimed it was so Jim could learn the ropes, but Kirk knew that Bones simply didn't want to do it.

Though McCoy constantly preached to his wet-behind-the-ears probie that there, "Was no such thing as routine traffic stop," Jim thought the ticket given to the driver of the M5 was terribly…routine. Contrite and probably more afraid of what he'd face from his parents when he got home, the seventeen year old driver of the car was contrite and apologetic through the entire procedure, even going as far as volunteering up information before it was asked.

As it was a beautiful fall day, Kirk decided that sitting inside the car while he finished up the post-stop paperwork would be a crime nice weather. Winters in the Midwest were long enough, and Jim did all he could to soak up the rays when he could. Jim laid the report on the hood of the car and dragged out the process as long as he dared. He enjoyed being outside far too much to sit cooped up in a police car all day. Glancing over the tops of his aviator sunglasses, it looked like McCoy was doing the same. His partner was standing directly to his left, the sergeant leaning casually up against the passenger side front quarter panel of the issued Charger. His face was angled up toward the sky slightly, hands resting on the top of his duty rig.

Jim reread the contents of his report for accuracy. He gave Bones a hard nudge with his left elbow and handed the piece of paper over for inspection. McCoy read it and was about to open his mouth to say something when the radio on his shoulder crackled to life.

"_Dispatch to six-two_."

McCoy reached up, hit the transmit button, and answered Serdeski's call. "Six-two here."

"_Six-two,_ _are you clear of that traffic stop yet?"_

Kirk signed off on the report, affixing his non-descript John Hancock next to McCoy's illegible, looping scribble. He reached up and grabbed the mic. "We're clear, dispatch. What do you have for us now?"

"_Emergency just got a report of a purse snatching outside Savers. RP states that suspect description is a white male, about six feet tall, dark brown hair, mid thirties, wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and blue jeans. Other witnesses said he took off north on a yellow bicycle."_

"Was the suspect armed?" McCoy asked, picking the speeding report up off the hood of the car before he started striding toward the driver's side.

"_RP said that the man claimed he had a gun. She felt something pressed into her back, but never saw the weapon. Proceed with caution and advise once on scene."_

Kirk and McCoy were running to their respective sides of the car. Bones was in and ready to go, buckling his seat belt at the same time he reached for the radio mic tucked under the dash of the car. "Understood, dispatch. Six-two, fourteen fifty-five Round Lake Boulevard."

As was customary in their squad, Kirk reached for the lights and sirens, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He took a quick peek over at McCoy to find the sergeant's jaw clenched, eyes focused and determined on the task ahead. Jim sighed. "So much for a routine afternoon."

McCoy's eyes flicked right quickly and then turned back to focus on the road. He swerved past a slow moving Saab that felt it wasn't appropriate to pull over for the flashing lights and sirens with a curse before he said to Kirk, "What do I keep telling you about that shit?"

Jim nearly rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. There is no such thing. I get it," he agreed, though he knew McCoy could tell he thought anything but.

Snorting, Leonard replied, "Some days, kid, I'm really not sure you do."

* * *

**Next Up**: Sometimes, the right answer is not always the most obvious. Other times, it's plain as day. Kirk discovers both in the course of one shift.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: Since this technically _is_ a cop!verse, I figured I'd better write in something that has to do with law enforcement. And nothing screams 'civil service' like dealing with people who don't understand or appreciate what those civil servants do for the general public. Sometimes, you just can't win. But at least in this case, I was able to use it as a catalyst for some more *gasps* wait for it...character development. Anyway, I was trying to post this yesterday, but seeing The Avengers (side note: mmm...Chris Hemsworth and Jeremy Renner FTW!) and then severe thunderstorms in Minneapolis last night precluded that. Here's chapter three for you all. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I have settled for an ordinary life, so therefore, I cannot own Star Trek.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Despite his partner's vehement claims to the contrary, Jim Kirk still believed in two things: A) Routine police calls can and did exist, and B) There was really no such thing as a no-win scenario. He lived his life by the second theory, and would never, ever change it. The first one, however, was open to interpretation, especially given the non-routine nature of the call to which he and McCoy just responded.

Upon pulling into the parking lot at Savers, the pair of cops weren't even out of their car before the reported victim approached them. Loud, irate, and pushy, she zeroed straight in on McCoy and latched her claws into the sergeant, refusing to back off until she heard the things she was looking to hear.

The problem was that McCoy wasn't providing the "right" answers.

"I swear to God, if I catch the asshole that did this, I'll cut off his balls!"

"Really, now?" Jim asked. "Isn't that a little extreme?"

McCoy schooled his face to impassivity, gently pursed his lips and gave Jim a little shove to the gut. He eyed the woman standing before him while thinking that if it were physically possible, he was sure there would be steam seeping from her ears. Despite her willowy frame and bleach blonde hair, it was clear to Len in the four minutes he'd spent in her presence that she was a firecracker. "Ma'am, I don't think that will be necessary."

Laura Howell, as the woman claimed to be named, shifted her weight and put one hand on her hip, leaning forward and gesturing wildly. "Like hell it wouldn't be! The check for my FAFSA loan was in my purse! I was on my way to the bank to deposit it so I could pay my tuition for the semester!" she yelled, heedless of the small crowd beginning to gather outside the main doors. "I'm pissed!"

"Clearly," McCoy replied, scribbling some more on the paper attached the metal clipboard before shoving it in to Jim's hands for the rookie to complete. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and peered over the upper rim. "We just have a couple more questions and then you can be on your way."

"Miss Howell, to be perfectly honest, your purse is the lesser of our concerns right now," Jim started. It was as sincere as he could get, and Kirk hoped that a calm voice would help diffuse the irate woman's building temper tantrum. "Can you tell us more about the weapon your assailant threatened you with?"

"Weapon? There wasn't a weapon," she replied, picking at one of her nails.

Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances. "We were told there was a weapon involved. That's what was reported to 911."

Howell waved a dismissive hand. "I told the kid that called 911 that the guy who grabbed my purse had a gun. I thought it would get you here faster so you could get my shit back for me. Guess it worked. Well, sort of."

Jim took a peek over at his partner. Jaw clenched and working, Jim could see McCoy's blood pressure ticking up about ten more points. The sergeant shook his head, not willing to do much else, lest he risk a profane outburst directed at Howell and the general stupidity of people like her. Reaching up for his mic, he said to dispatch in a low voice, "Six-two, tell all units in the area to disregard the weapon on the purse snatch. RP claimed it to emergency to get us to her faster."

Dispatch's reply cackled in his ear, and after Jim acknowledged it, he fixed Howell with a pointed stare. "Why would you do something like that? Ma'am, we had multiple units heading in your direction because of the threat a guy like that poses to people in the immediate area. You're pulling resources away from folks would could actually use them," he finished, unable to keep the small hint of venom from his voice.

Howell rolled her eyes, scoffing while she was halfway through the gesture. "You're kidding me, right? You're really going to stand there and lecture me about what I did? That's rich!" she laughed haughtily. "Goddammit, I knew you wouldn't take it seriously unless I said he had a gun. When my car was broken into last year, I waited two and a half hours for a cop to show up, and when he did, all you idiots managed to do was to take a report while you told me to check the pawn shops around the area! So forgive me if I don't have an outstanding, glowing review of the Iowa City police department."

"Oh, what a terrible predicament," McCoy grumbled before Jim could initiate a half-assed interjection.

There were times when Kirk was glad that McCoy's tongue was about as sharp as his brain, and when dealing with idiots like Laura Howell, Kirk was also glad McCoy hadn't quite managed to figure out the whole concept of being PC. Bones called it like he saw it, and he never minced words. Jim hid the small smile of satisfaction when he recognized the fractional flare of his partner's nostrils and the telltale eyebrow raise. '_Insult in three, two, one…_'

McCoy looked Howell straight in the eye and, with his natural Georgian accent thickening, shot out sarcastically, "You had to wait for two hours? Two full hours? Well ma'am, I am sorry that you were inconvenienced, you'll have to forgive us if we had to push your non-violent property break in down the list while we took care of the domestic disturbance calls, the child neglect cases, the shootings, the stabbings, the gang banging, and the fatal car accidents."

Howell's jaw fell open. "Are you mocking me?"

"No, ma'am. Not at all," McCoy replied with nothing but a straight face. The sergeant sighed deeply and barely resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Dealing with drug addicts, car thieves, wife beaters and gang bangers was one thing (and a completely acceptable part of the job), but he_ really_ did not get paid enough to put up with snotty, prissy, stuck up bitches like Laura Howell.

Kirk could see that Howell's shrill voice and attitude of entitlement was grating on his partner's nerves, and by the look on Bones' face, it was clear the beginnings of a migraine was taking hold right behind the man's eyes. Jim shook his head and forced himself to focus and looked down at his clipboard, physically checking off that he had all the required information. He tore off his copies of the sheet and handed the pink carbon wordlessly to the young woman. "If we find your purse, we'll be in touch."

Incensed, Laura looked at the slip of paper like it was about to bite her hand off. She wadded it up in a little tiny ball and tossed it on the ground at her feet. The paper rolled away toward the curb of the lot, carried by the light breeze and settled against the gutter grate. Howell waved her arms frantically through the air and scrubbed her fake, perfectly manicured nails through her hair. With a squeal of frustration she ranted, "This is it? This is all you're going to do? That's bullshit! What the hell do I pay my taxes for anyway?"

"Ma'am, look," McCoy began, feeling snarkier than usual. "We're going to put out a description of the man who stole your purse. All the units will have it for this shift and the next one. We're going to alert the local pawn shops in our daily reports of what was stolen. I suggest you start making phone calls to cancel whatever was in your purse, and call your loan company to report the check stolen. If we find your property, we'll be sure to get in touch with you. But really, there's not much else we can do now. I'm sorry you were a victim of crime, but your tax dollars only go so far in providing police coverage for the entire city," McCoy finished, unwilling to let the bitch of a woman off without a subtle tongue lashing.

Howell, for her part, wasn't about to back down, either. She looked McCoy up and down, and noticing the sergeant's stripes on his shirt sleeves said, "Well, I guess there must be a reason someone as old as you is still on the streets, working with a kid who looks like he should still be friends with my little brother. What's your supervisor's name? I want your badge number."

Len pointed to the police report she previously crumpled up and discarded without a second thought. "You've already got it, if you can still read it. There are two on there – my badge should be the one on the top. My CO is Lieutenant Pike. The number for the station is on the form as well, so feel free to give him a call. He'd love to hear from you." McCoy shifted on one foot and pulled off his sunglasses. "And if you don't pick the report up off the ground, I'm going to go ahead and cite you for littering."

"Oh my god, you're a dick," she muttered, taking two long strides over to where the discarded report landed. Laura turned on her heel to walk away, she shot over her shoulder before she left, "And now, on top of missing my student loan check, whoever it was that jacked my purse has my bank card, my credit card, my cell phone with all my contacts in it, and most of all, my home address. Just great," she finished sarcastically. "Thanks for all your help! Awesome!"

"Have a nice day, ma'am!" McCoy called across the parking lot.

Kirk watched the woman practically stomp off, his hands on his duty rig and a bemused expression on his face. He laughed out loud when she reciprocated McCoy's words with vehement waves of both middle fingers. "Wow. She was…something."

McCoy also stared at Howell's retreating back, though his expression was anything but amused. Pursed lips, furrowed eyebrows and a partial glare told Kirk that his partner was somewhat annoyed by the woman's childish behavior, but Jim also knew that Bones would be over it before they managed to get in the car.

"There's always one," McCoy said with a sigh. He flipped the metal clipboard closed and tossed it in its holder near the center console computer. "What's next?"

"Coffee?" Kirk asked, checking his watch.

"Coffee," McCoy replied. "Listening to that woman's complaints drained my energy."

Kirk chuckled as he opened the door to the cruiser. He sat down and went straight for the computer settled in between the driver and the passenger, punching up Howell's information into the onboard database.

McCoy settled himself in the driver's seat of the car. With a long suffering sigh, he furrowed his eyebrows and pointed to the computer. "What are you doing, Jim?"

Fingers dancing rapidly across the touch screen interface, Kirk didn't even bother to look up when he answered. He lip curled up minutely in the sinister way it often did when Jim had an idea he considered amusing. "I'm looking to see if that woman had any outstanding parking tickets I can use to make her day more miserable. You know, to return the favor."

McCoy's face broke into a wide smile right before he tipped his head back and laughed. Some days, maybe riding around with a rookie wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

"Bones, I think I'm going to out and commit a crime just so we have something to do. This sucks," Jim said, head resting on the window and his fist propped up on under his chin. He let out a long sigh. Kirk absently tapped his pen with his left hand against the notepad sitting open on his lap. There were several small doodles drawn over the page of notes he was making, showcasing the boredom he felt. Jim barely repressed the urge to pout, instead yawning loudly against the window in his seat.

Three hours, a slew of mundane calls and a questionable gas station burrito later, Kirk thought the day officially went from interesting to downright craptacular. The shift's excitement petered out rapidly after Laura Howell, and Kirk wondered if and when they'd ever get some action. It wasn't the weekend, but anything was better than riding around the less reputable parts of town, doing busy work in a vain effort to stay occupied. The streets were dark, nearly deserted, and the few people that were out and about in the areas they'd previously checked actually looked legit.

Out of other, better, more attractive options, McCoy insisted that he and Kirk troll through a darkened parking lot in an area ripe with abandoned warehouses and condemned homes. The sergeant claimed it was a breeding ground for the illicit, and the place the cops always came when they needed something to do. One cracked streetlight flicked on and off above their car while the only other source of light came from a few security lamps positioned on one of the occupied buildings. Graffiti colored the brick of the privacy wall on the other side of the street, and Kirk momentarily found himself admiring the tagger's talent.

Sighing deeply, Len rolled his eyes, easing his foot off the brake to let the car creep forward. "Did your mother drop you on your head as a child? Unless your plan is to arrest yourself, what person in their right mind goes to make more work for themselves?" McCoy asked, incredulous. He stabbed the buttons on the computer in the car viciously with the tip of his pen, paying little never mind to the delicacies of the keyboard.

"The one who is tired of sitting in a dark parking lot, running license plates to find stolen cars. This was only cool for the first five minutes, and now it's just lame. The only thing we've managed to do so far is to figure out that people need to renew their cars' registrations more than once every three years," Jim muttered in return. He shifted to face Bones, scrunching his face up in annoyance. "And leave my mother out of this. It's not my fault I was born in the sickbay of an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean."

McCoy raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "Bullshit."

"No bullshit," Kirk replied with a shake of his head. "I've got the birth certificate signed by the _Enterprise's_ onboard surgeon to prove it."

"I was being facetious, but if that's the case, it explains a lot," Bones said, nodding his head as he connected the mental dots. '_The kid was born at sea, the ship rolls and pitches, things get knocked around…_'

Kirk's snort and loud exclamation interrupted McCoy's thought train. "HEY!"

The sergeant cracked a rare smile, genuine and soft. "Okay, relax! I was joking!"

A smart-ass comment was just about to pass through Jim's lips when he looked out the windshield of the cruiser and spotted a familiar looking figure wandering through the parking lot. Narrowing his eyes, he flipped to the page in his notes taken from Howell's random rant. "Bones, I think that's the guy who jacked our crazy lady earlier. He fits the description I have for him."

McCoy squinted and pulled out his own notepad, leafing through to find the correct page. He read it over and nodded his head. "Looks like our guy. Let's see what he has to say. And if you're right, I guess you turned out be useful for something after all, even if it pains me to admit it."

Kirk rolled his eyes and pulled the handle of his door gently. Both men knew a junkie when they saw one, and the officers figured he would straight away bolt if they were to approach him in the normal fashion. Jim stepped out on to the street, feet making barely a sound against the blacktop. The dark fabric of Kirk's uniform helped him blend effortlessly into the shadows while he crept up on his suspect. Jim peeked over his shoulder and found McCoy doing much of the same.

Their mark was heedless of the two cops' presences, even though they were being less than quiet. A quick look left by Kirk sent a couple of high school aged kids on bikes to the other side of the street when the recognized the uniforms. Clearly, neither boy wanted to be caught out after curfew. Jim turned his head back toward the more pressing business when he was sure the kids wouldn't cause him or McCoy and more problems. The last thing he needed was more distractions.

The likelihood that the purse-snatching junkie was high off drugs he bought with the cash in Howell's wallet was a near certainty. Kirk watched as he meandered across the street, feeling the surfaces of whatever he bumped into in his punch-drunk state with a childlike awe of wonder. It was like a he was exploring his surroundings for the first time, and it would be almost comical if it weren't so pathetic. He continued walking, finally collapsing on a bus bench about a half a block from the cruiser. The junkie laid down on the hard plastic surface, curling up with his sweatshirt pulled over his head.

The cops silently moved up, saying not a word until they were within a few feet of their target. "Nice night out here," Jim said casually, striding up toward the possibly sleeping man.

Two bloodshot blue eyes snapped open, and before either cop realized it, he was up and off the bench. Kirk saw the junkie's head dart left and then quickly right, looking for every possible exit away from the police. But when he looked to his far left, he was met with sight of McCoy coming up from the side. A panicked expression flashed across the thin, gaunt face and before either cop could give the order to stop, the man fled, booking it for the open space of the warehouse alleys just down the street.

Jim held up one hand as if the simple gesture would deter the suspect from running. "Hey, hey, no don't do this," Kirk began as he started at a dead sprint after the junkie. "We just want to talk to you!"

Kirk took off, legs churning and feet pounding against the pavement, wondering why exactly every single junkie had to run from the cops. Couldn't they be nice and behave, just once? Was that so much to ask? He hollered down the street to the man, who for a strung out drug addict, turned out to be surprisingly quick. "Dude! Just stop! You're making it worse if I have to come get you!"

The flighty man took a quick glance back over his shoulder and kept running. The cop was fast, and the nice lead he enjoyed earlier was drying up like water in the desert. Skidding around the corner, the man grabbed onto the half broken ladder of a rickety fire escape and quickly scrambled up it.

Jim saw a flash of a shoe disappearing up the ladder, and flying around the corner, grabbed the fire escape to halt his sideways movement. His momentum carried his feet up and off the ground, boots coming up and hitting the side of the building as he used his upper body strength to pull himself up. Once his legs stopped wildly flailing beneath him, Kirk scaled each rung quickly and efficiently. Jim stuck his head cautiously up and over the ledge of the warehouse's roof, vigilant that he was at a severe tactical disadvantage, cresting the building exposed as he was.

The sound of footsteps off to his left grabbed his attention, and Jim caught the reflection of his suspect in the dirty skylight, illuminated by the full moon in the sky. Kirk hopped the ledge like he was jumping over the boards at hockey, placing his right hand on the lip and leaning his right hip against the side while swinging both his legs up and over the central contact point. His feet were barely on the ground again when he was off to the races, just on the heels of their suspect.

In his ear, Kirk heard McCoy's panting call. _"Kirk! I lost you!"_

Jim reached up for the mic on his shoulder while still running full steam across the warehouse roof. "Warehouse roof. Around the corner, there was a ladder on the south side of the building. The red one with the graffiti."

"_I don't see it_," came McCoy's reply. A few seconds later, he added, "_Dammit, kid. Stop. Break it off! I have no clue where you are!_"

"I'm up on the roof, Bones! Can't you hear me? I'm not exactly being quiet here!" Kirk replied, hurdling a pile of garbage without breaking his stride. He rounded a service entrance door, frustrated that the man was still eluding him. Jim came to the conclusion that he was at a distinct disadvantage, chasing their criminal around the rooftop. The man seemed to know every curve, every corner and where every loose pile of rocks was, because the cop still wasn't gaining ground. "Stop already, will you!"

Kirk let out a frustrated growl when the man disappeared over the side of the building, presumably dropping back to street level. Kirk found the ladder and followed, bracing both his feet on the outside of the metal before he slid down like a submariner. He pivoted 180 degrees when he hit the ground and grabbed his mic. "Heading north, back on the street level!"

Kirk heard a loud curse in his ear, followed by the winded voice of his partner. "_Goddammit, Jim! I'm not kidding any more! Break off your pursuit and stop NOW! I have completely lost you. He's a petty criminal! We can catch this guy another day,_" McCoy yelled into his radio.

Jim shook his head. '_Not a chance in hell_,' he thought. He was close enough to see the logo on the bottom of the man's shoes, and in a few more strides, it'd be all over but for the paperwork. Out loud, he said, "No way, Bones. I almost have him."

"_For fuck's sake, Kirk,_ _I'm not telling you again_-" McCoy yelled. It was the last thing Jim heard before he launched himself, fully stretched out and parallel to the ground, at the suspect. He wrapped both his outstretched arms around the man's torso, and when the bulk of his body hit the much lighter suspect, Kirk literally felt his mass knock the wind out of his charge. Jim's momentum picked the pair up off the ground, and for a brief moment, they were airborne. The men crashed into a pile of garbage and cardboard boxes, rolling to a halt about six feet from where Kirk made the initial contact.

Jim landed on top, using his weight and superior strength to hold the man down while he reached for his cuffs with his free hand. Securing the metal bracelets, Jim picked up the moaning, panting drug addict and hauled him to his feet. Kirk sucked in a couple of greedy breaths to slow his own racing heart; though he thought he'd likely recover long before his newest collar did. "Up we go, genius," Jim said to the man when he started walking back toward the car.

The radio crackled in his ear. Partner. Contact. Crap. Jim reached up and grabbed his shoulder mic. "Bones, I've got him. Northeast alley of the building. We're coming out to the car now."

As Jim rounded the corner with his drug addict in tow, McCoy came sprinting around the side of the building, skidding to a relieved halt when he saw his partner no worse for wear with a handcuffed suspect. Bending at the waist, he dropped his hands to his knees and panted heavily, swallowing to relieve the dry mouth he got chasing his partner around the block. He straightened and concentrated on slowing his breathing, sucking air in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Kirk shot him a cocky, barely winded grin as he passed. "Too easy, Bones. Too easy."

Incensed, McCoy's upper lip curled in a nearly feral fashion. Instead of the sarcastic comment Kirk was sure he'd get, the sergeant said nothing, silently turning and walking with his partner back to the car. The only thing audible as the trio walked was the sounds of their breathing and their feet tapping against the pavement. They backtracked their path, through the alley, across the street and past the graffiti wall before they walked under the security lights of the warehouse near where the car was left.

When they reached their cruiser, McCoy unlocked the doors and Kirk shoved the junkie into the car. He left the door open to allow some air to flow through the back seat. Though it wasn't nearly as warm as the summer months, the crisp fall breeze floating through the air was refreshing, and a reminder why many stayed in the Midwest and put up with the arctic winters. Kirk reached in to grab his notepad from the front seat and walked around the open door to lean against the rear quarter panel of the car.

Kirk stood silently, waiting for McCoy to grab his notepad and come around to start the interview. Much as Pike did for him, Bones insisted he take the lead on all the questioning as senior officer so Kirk could learn the ropes. Jim tried his best to be a sponge every day, soaking in what knowledge and experience McCoy could offer, but there was a part of him that was anxious to take the reins when his training officer felt he was ready.

It should have been another interview in which Jim listened, interjected when he could, but where Bones did most of the talking. But instead of grabbing his beaten up leather notepad from the pocket on the driver's door, McCoy tossed the keys to the cruiser to Kirk over the roof of the car and sat down heavily in the driver's seat, body angled away from his partner. McCoy's left leg hung insipidly out the door, posture slouched and frustrated.

"Bones? Hey, what gives, man?" Kirk asked, confused, leaning down and sticking his face in the area of the passenger's seat. He couldn't see McCoy's face in the dark, but he could see his partner's bowed head and closed eyes. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Your collar, your interview," McCoy said stonily, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb and index finger. He let out a long sigh and dropped his head into his hand, massaging his temples to keep the headache at bay.

Kirk studied his partner's sullen posture and attitude. He was far from understanding the intricacies of Leonard McCoy's thought processes, but he knew that this was a side of him he'd never seen before. Exasperated was a normal state of being from Bones when dealing with Jim; Kirk was well aware of that, but the vibe he was getting from his partner now was different. It was odd, and it absolutely, positively, did not feel right. Pursing his lips, Kirk wondered if he'd just crossed an invisible line in their early partnership, because McCoy actually looked pissed.

Jim found himself hoping that Bones was able to let his anger go quickly, because the squad car really was too small of a space to have to share it with someone who wanted to tear his head off. Whatever happened the rest of the night, Kirk knew one thing for sure: he was about to get the excitement he'd prayed for earlier. It just _really_ wasn't in the way he planned.

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**Next Up**: Kirk picks Pike's brain and in the process, gets inside McCoy's head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes**: For you Yanks out there, I hope you all are having a safe and pleasant Memorial Day weekend! All right, guys. Hockey is really, really distracting. Like, seriously. In Bones' words, it's, "Taken forever and a goddamned day," to edit because the Stanley Cup conference finals that have been going on. But since the Finals are now set (Author's shout out: GO KINGS GO! They took out the Canucks, and as a Minnesotan, that alone is enough for me to cheer for them.), I can concentrate on getting this last chapter out. It's a little long, but it's basically the entire point of the fic so I figured some extra length wouldn't be a bad thing. There's lots of confused!Jim and awesome!Pike, so hopefully that makes up for my slowness in releasing the chapter.

As always, my thanks goes out to all of you for reading. Extra special thanks to the people who took time out of their day to leave comments. Know that I appreciate each and every one of them. All right. I'll stop blathering on now so you all can get to reading. Enjoy the last chapter, and again, thank you for reading! I hope everyone has enjoyed it.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Star Trek, or any of the music named in this chapter. More's the pity.

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**Chapter 4**

'The World According to Jim Kirk' was often a fascinating study. Amusing to some, terrifying to most others, Kirk had his own unique way of viewing the world around him. It may not have always been appropriate and it may not have always been particularly sane, but it was amusing nonetheless. And in Jim's eyes, his evening went from endlessly entertaining to utterly ridiculous in about ten minutes flat.

Namely, he spent the rest of his shift trying to figure out what he'd done to piss his partner off so thoroughly, and McCoy wasn't helping.

The pair of cops interviewed their rooftop junkie, got a fairly easy confession out of the guy, and transported him to booking. Pike gave them a hearty backslap of congratulations and sent them back out on to the street, but it was clear right away that something was off about the sergeant. Around the department, McCoy was well known for his prolific and inventive bitching about everything from the weather to the state of the NFL. He was a man whose opinions were strong and who wasn't shy about sharing them, the offensiveness of said opinions not withstanding. So when Jim was treated to four hours of proverbial radio silence from his partner, it had him understandably concerned.

From the moment McCoy pulled out of the intake garage to the minute their shifted ended, the marginally elder cop was downright icy. He spoke to Jim only when he needed to, and when he did talk, he only said enough to get the relevant information to do their job. Jim wasn't the type of guy who needed to fill the empty void with idle chatter, but on the other hand, the hours of pregnant silence was a bit of an irritation. Kirk tried to engage Bones in conversation, but with each attempt, the creases on McCoy's face drew deeper and the scowl on his face more pronounced. Even stranger, the sergeant was back at the station exactly at their shift's end time. Normally, Kirk and McCoy were pulling over their last speeder at 2300, which put them off duty by around midnight. Early for once, Bones silently exited the cruiser and turned in his radio, making a beeline for the locker room to change before he headed home.

It was when McCoy tried to leave after shift without saying another word that Jim realized he had to step in to address the problem head-on. Frustrated, Kirk slammed his locker shut and stepped in front of his partner, effectively blocked McCoy's path to the exit of the locker room. Grabbing his bicep, Jim pulled Bones into a secluded corner of the cops' personal area. He looked his partner squarely in the eye before he said, "Okay, man. I don't know what I did to piss you off, but at least stop giving me the silent treatment. We're not in third grade anymore."

Eyes flickering, McCoy growled simply, "Get out of my way, Jim. It's been a long day, I'm tired, and I want to go home."

"No, not until you tell me what crawled up your ass and died," Kirk replied. He didn't miss the neat attempted sidestep to his question, or the way McCoy failed to make eye contact. Bones wasn't the type to skirt the issue, and he sure as hell wasn't afraid of a challenge. Jim cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at his partner when he didn't get the reaction he was looking for. Bones' eyes were dull and tired, and Jim could see the ripple of tension running through his body. "What the hell is going on with you? One minute you're cool, and the next, you won't speak to me. Or tell me why, and that's not right."

McCoy let out long breath and ran one hand through his messy, still-damp-from-the-shower hair. He adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder and fiddled with the hem of his emerald green vintage 7-Up t-shirt in an attempt to hide his off-duty weapon situated in a holster secured at the waistband of his jeans. His eyes wandered over some indeterminate point on the wall above Jim's head. "It's none of your damned business, kid," he replied in a nearly defeated tone while he tried to move past Kirk.

Jim shot one arm out, his hand banging loudly off a set of unused lockers. It startled McCoy marginally, enough to make him stop, and it gave Kirk time to glare up at his superior. "Oh, yes it is," Jim started vehemently. "I might be a rookie, but I'm still your partner. That makes it my business."

The sergeant shook his head and bit his lip. Sharply, McCoy said, "Just—Just don't push it, Jim. Okay? Just don't. You don't know and it's not anything you need to be concerned about." McCoy shoved his shoulder into Jim's chest, physically moving the younger man out of the way through brute force. He took two quick strides toward the middle of the room, grabbed his car keys from the bench and pushed his way out the door.

Kirk stood in the corner of the locker room, stunned, watching his partner's retreating back. He knew McCoy had a temper, but each time it actually showed up, it was just exasperation based white noise. This time though, Bones didn't look pissed. In fact, Kirk was having trouble picking an emotion, any emotion, he saw on his partner's face. It was like it was just blank, approaching dead. Jim scratched his head and quickly retrieved his things. Shoving all his shit in his own duffel, he zipped it, grabbed his leather jacket, and slipped on his riding boots.

After a long, stressful day on the job, Jim wanted nothing more than go home and drop into a vegetative state on the couch with an ice cold beer and his TiVo-ed Monday Night Football game. He had all the bungees secured to hold his bag in place on the tail of his Gixxer and was even wearing the helmet McCoy badgered him into buying as, "A precaution against inevitable stupidity." But when Kirk threw one leg over the bike and hit the starter, he knew it wouldn't be right to go home just yet. With his overactive mind coupled with the shift's frustration, Jim knew he'd spend the remainder of the night thinking instead of watching the game. He sighed, hit the engine's kill switch and dropped the kickstand down to the ground. Jim peeled off his helmet and gloves, plucked the key from the ignition and walked back up the stairs into the station.

It probably would be best for Jim to try and figure out his partner woes on his own. But, despite the fact that, as a rookie, he was both the lowest form of shit among cops and lucky to simply get a name other than 'fucktard', his mother didn't raise him to be disrespectful. He may have forgotten that lesson from time to time, but it was still in there, rattling around the back of his head for implementation on a semi-permanent basis. Jim cringed internally when he thought about the Wrath of Winona should she ever find out that her son let his partner go home angry without making an effort to rectify the situation. And that? That was worse than any punishment he might get from Bones for sticking his nose in business that McCoy clearly thought it didn't belong.

Still though, just because he was trying to come up with a logical explanation as to why his partner went from a righteous (If a little cranky) dude to a complete ass in a half of a shift, that didn't necessarily mean he had to go straight to the source to find out. There were other ways around it, and Jim prided himself on being nothing if not unconventional. Or ballsy. Or both.

Trotting up the stairs to the office section of the precinct, Jim wrapped his knuckles on the door of his lieutenant and stuck his head through the open door. "Lieu? Got a minute for an FNG?"

Chris Pike looked up from the paper he was studying. With a gentle, almost relieved smile, he said, "Regular FNGs? No. For you? Sure. Come on in, Jim and help distract me from this mountain of paperwork that's found its way to my desk."

"What's going on in here anyway?" Jim asked, neatly sidestepping a couple of boxes to the left of the enormous desk taking up most of the space in Pike's office. He tossed his helmet down on the open box top, hoping Pike didn't need anything inside it.

"Audit time. Spock the IA machine wants all the incident reports, as well as every single written and verbal complaint for the last five years from the entire department so he can go over them again. What he's looking for is beyond my comprehension, but who am I to argue with him? And since I've never actually digitized all that shit, I get to put them all together now," Pike said with an irritated grumble.

"How much of that is my fault?" Jim asked, wincing marginally when he saw the small forest of trees that sacrificed their lives to make the Mt. Everest of paperwork strewn about Pike's office. It was stacked and shoved and stuck on just about every surface. It was a wonder that the lieutenant even knew where anything was.

"You and McCoy?" Pike motioned to a small stack of papers teetering on top of his candy dish. "Just those."

"Just?" Jim asked with a little grin, eyeing the dozen or so reports.

"Yeah, just. Believe me, kid. After what I put up with, what's in that pile is nothing, but that does _not_ mean you get a free pass the next time you feel like breaking something that belongs to the chief. I was hearing about that for a week. I'm _still_ hearing about it." Pike motioned for the chair opposite his desk, one of the few surfaces in the room that wasn't covered in paper. "Now, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you."

Kirk lowered himself into the offered chair, mindful to create as little wind as possible when he moved, thereby avoiding knocking over a stack or two of paper in the process. He watched Pike exhale a relieved sigh when his left leg came perilously close to a knee-high pile of documentation that had clearly seen better days. Jim dug into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out Pike's iPod, setting it carefully on the desk. "First of all, I wanted to give that back to you. I took it by mistake when I left on Friday after that idiot fest down in booking."

Pike smiled and leaned forward, plucking the MP3 player off the stack of paperwork. He tossed it on top of the 'In' basket on his desk. "Yeah, I figured that out after I plugged yours in on my drive home only be deafened by Mudvayne. How can you still hear? My eardrums were offended on your behalf if that's the volume you always use."

"Sorry about that, on both counts I guess. But I was working out. You know how it goes," Kirk answered.

"I do." Fixing Jim with his best fatherly stare, Pike asked, "And what prompted you to steal my iPod for the weekend? Boredom? If you need something else to do, believe me, I can find you plenty of projects around here that won't involve the decimation of my personal property."

"Don't start getting inventive yet, Lieu, and let me explain. I actually didn't mean to take it, but we have the same one. Honest mistake. I swear," he said, accepting the correct iPod Pike produced from his desk drawer when the lieutenant slid it across the surface of the desk. Jim stopped, replaying in his mind what the lieutenant said a second earlier. "Wait a minute. You've heard of Mudvayne? And you recognize it when you hear it?"

"Kirk, I have a teenage son who happens to like very loud, very heavy metal. Just because I know it when I hear it does not make me a fan," Pike said with a stern look plastered all over his face. Secretly, he couldn't help but egg the kid on a bit. As a lieutenant, it was his right. It was also slightly liberating to see Jim's genius brain taken down a peg or two as a subtle reminder of where he sat in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't often anyone pulled anything over on the kid and there was a tiny part of the lieutenant that enjoyed watching Jim squirm. But before Kirk hurt himself, Pike took pity on the rookie and let him off the hook. "For the record though, Mudvayne is not bad. I've heard a lot worse. I'm just happy my son listens to more than just obnoxiously loud music. I get enough headaches from you idiots here."

Jim had the good grace to duck his chin, taking the light scolding to heart. "Yeah, speaking of that. You've got some interesting shit on there. Kind of surprised me. I never thought you'd be the type of guy that would listen to Alice in Chains, Green Day or Cee Lo Green. That one had me howling, man. 'Fuck You' is an awesome song!"

"It is, but that means you looked through this thing to find it," Pike replied flatly. Though his tone was serious, there was a definitive playful and amused glint in his eyes, one he knew Kirk couldn't miss.

Of all the people in the department, the lieutenant should have known that Jim would sift through the iPod, if only because he was too curious for his own good. Kirk was entirely unapologetic for it, even if it was technically an invasion of a senior officer's personal privacy. Shrugging, he said, "Call it research then, Lieu. I thought it might help me learn a little more about you. I was right."

The lieutenant sighed. By process of elimination, Pike was able to figure out fairly quickly who had his iPod when he realized he had the wrong one on his way home from work. Once he did that, he had two hopes about the mix up. One: he really wanted to get his iPod back, and since it was with Jim Kirk, he wanted to get it back while it was still _working_. And since he knew that Kirk had very little impulse control over his curiously, he also knew Jim wouldn't be able to resist taking a little peek. He expected it, but luckily for Kirk, he also didn't really care. But, Jim didn't have to know that last bit.

Pike made a big show of inspecting his device for any kind of toxic substance transfer it may have acquired after a weekend with Kirk. He raised one eyebrow and turned the black rectangle over in his hands. "I'm glad you had fun rifling through my personal property for your own amusement, Kirk."

"Yeah, well. Did you really expect me to just leave it alone?" Jim said, completely unrepentant.

"Honestly? Not really."

"At least you're realistic about it," Kirk said after the men shared a chuckle, pointing to Pike. "Like I said, your musical tastes shocked me, though. I'll admit that."

"I take it you were expecting something a lot different?" Pike asked.

Pausing to think, Jim replied, "Not so much different, no. The stuff you had on there I thought fit you. Montgomery Gentry, Bruce Hornsby, Springsteen, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Johnny Cash. But what surprised me was the extra variety. The Black Crowes, man! I approve of it all, especially the Chili Peppers, Metallica, the hefty collection of Sublime and everything in between."

"So you were stunned I wasn't a one trick pony? Thanks for the vote of confidence," Pike clarified with an amused snort. "Sorry to disappoint you that I'm not nearly as boring as the rest of the department believes, even if you think I'm older than dirt."

"I never said that," Jim laughed, halfheartedly defensive.

"No, but you were thinking it," Pike supplied. "I know your brain well, Jim, as scary as I think that is. I was young once, too. But," he paused, "I'm also guessing you didn't come all the way back in here when you were clearly ready to go home just to return my iPod."

Kirk sucked in a breath. Pike's friendly, laid back nature often masked the brilliant police officer and investigator that lay below, and also covered up how scarily observant the older man's mind was. "No," Jim admitted, but said nothing further. The clock on the wall ticked away loudly while Jim thought, still not sure which way to proceed. Uncharacteristically, he fidgeted silently, saying nary a word. "Funny, I always thought this would be easy," he laughed out nervously.

Pike decided to help the young man along, because it really was pitiful to see someone as outgoing as Kirk struggling to find the right words. It spoke volumes of the conflict running through his mind. "Just spit it out, Jim."

The young cop took a deep breath. He knew he was walking a fine line with Pike, especially since the lieutenant was McCoy's training officer as well as his longtime friend. But honestly, he didn't know where else he could go. He needed to find someone that A) McCoy trusted, and B) Would talk to a rookie openly about a sergeant. He was fresh out of better options. Jim stood up and stripped off his leather riding jacket, tossing it on the floor on the other side of Pike's desk. If he was going to do this, he was at least going to be comfortable. "It's Bones."

"Who?" Pike asked, confused.

"McCoy," Jim clarified with a shake of his head. It felt strangely foreign on his tongue to use his partner's true last name. "Sorry. Long story on that nickname."

"I'll take your word for it, though I'm not sure I want or need to hear the story. Does it involve something illegal?" Pike asked, a thinly veiled look of horror on his face.

Jim put up his hands and laughed. "No, no. Nothing like that."

"Then I don't need to know. Now, what about your partner? What's going on between you two? I sensed a little bit of tension tonight," Pike sighed, knowing this was coming sooner or later.

"You picked up on that, huh? Glad they made you a lieutenant with those outstanding observational skills," Jim said morosely. He straightened, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lieu. It's been a long day. Don't mind me and my mouth."

"No offense taken. I'm a cop, remember? Talk, Jim. You seem like you need an ear, son." Pike leaned sideways in his chair, resting his right elbow on the armrest. He folded his hands together and tapped the pen he was holding in his left hand against the hint of exposed blotter on his cluttered desk.

Kirk let out another frustrated sigh. He slouched in his chair, legs straight out, while he leaned his elbow on the armrest. He used his fist to prop up his cheek, looking like anything but a police officer at that moment and much more like a delinquent in the principal's office. "Something weird happened tonight. Bones seemed like he was really pissed. I might be overacting because he could have just been having an off night, but it felt different to me than the other times he's wanted to punch me."

"What happened? Was there one thing you can narrow it down to?" Pike asked innocently. He knew the real answer, both from watching McCoy and hearing the audio chatter, but he also understood his job was to help Kirk find the solution to the problem. It wouldn't do either man any good if Pike simply spoon-fed it to him. Kirk needed to fully appreciate what transpired between him and McCoy for any kind of forward progress to be made.

Kirk pondered the lieutenant's question, oblivious to the thoughts and justifications running through his superior's head. He cracked his neck back and forth. "I don't know, but I don't think so. All of sudden, he just stopped talking to me. Wouldn't even acknowledge my existence, and I mean that in a sense outside of me being a rookie. I don't get it, because every other time he's been a dick, he's had a pretty good reason to be pissed off."

Pike nodded. He stood and picked his way across the floor, making his way over toward the windowsill where he stashed the coffee maker he 'borrowed' from the kitchen. He grabbed a couple of questionably clean mugs and poured two healthy servings, handed Jim one wordlessly before he sat back down.

Kirk took one sip and gratefully downed three more swallows in quick succession, happy to discover it was Starbucks' tribute blend instead of the Maxwell House shit the station insisted on drinking. "This is good, but if you're giving me coffee, that means I'm gonna be here a while."

Pike sat back and tapped his glass with his fingers. He smiled almost forlornly as if to acknowledge Jim's comment. "It helps me think, Kirk. If you don't want it, give it here."

Jim pulled the cup in toward his body, shielding it protectively. "No. I think I'll keep it. Coffee always makes things better, even if dealing with a cranky partner sucks ass."

Pike stopped. He leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his feet at the ankles while he stared out the window at the street opposite the building. "Are you?" the lieutenant asked, adding a packet of sugar procured from his desk drawer to the coffee.

"Am I what?"

"Dealing with it," Pike clarified.

Kirk paused. "Yeah, I am, I mean, I'm here, aren't I?" Jim replied, confident.

"Hmm." Pike pushed off his desk and walked back to his chair, settling gracefully into it.

Kirk narrowed his eyes. "If you're going to tell me something, then tell me. If you're not, stop yanking my chain like you're going to help me so I can be on my way. I'll figure it out on my own," he said, the frustrations of the day finally ebbing through his normally carefree nature.

"First of all, Kirk, you can ditch your attitude," Pike said, leaning forward on one elbow and pointing the index finger of his left hand at Jim. "You came to me, asking for my help. While I find it commendable you care about your partner, I also know people like you well enough to know that your motives aren't exactly unadulterated. You're curious, and no one else will give you the time of day for what you want to know." Pike looked up from his mug and caught Jim's properly chastised gaze. Softening his expression, the lieutenant added, "Now, there's a lot you don't know about McCoy. Ninety-nine percent of it isn't your business right now. He may tell you in time, but it's not my place to spill it."

Jim's lips turned upwards in the cocky smile that Pike wanted to knock off his face repeatedly during his skills training. It was the know-it-all grin, and Kirk knew it drove the lieutenant nuts. He sat back and folded his hands over his chest. "Ninety-nine isn't one hundred, Lieu."

"God, I knew there was a reason I put up with you," Pike replied with a smile, happy to see that Kirk was able to both take the lecture in stride and cut through the bullshit at the same time. "No, you're right, Jim. Ninety nine isn't one hundred, and I understand while you're here. It's because McCoy went frosty on you for the back half of your shift, and you want to know why."

Kirk raised and lowered his eyebrows in quick succession as an answer to the affirmative. "That he did. Any ideas on that? You know him pretty well."

"I rode with him for seven years and I trained him. Yeah, I think I know him fairly well by now," Pike snorted sarcastically. He spun the mug in a small circle on his desk, silently contemplating what he could say to Kirk without breaking McCoy's confidence. Pike took a drink of his coffee and then motioned with one hand toward the bustling, noisy hallway "Close the door, Jim."

Kirk stood wordlessly and tiptoed his way around the piles of paper and the boxes littering Pike's office. With his foot, he carefully moved the stack that the lieutenant was using as doorstop and eased the old wooden door closed. It clicked in place, allowing the rookie to navigate his way back to the chair opposite his superior's desk. He settled in the seat and waited for Pike to continue.

"You know that whatever you hear in this room is between you, me and these four walls, correct? That I'm only doing this because you need to understand your partner and what makes him tick if I'm going to have any prayer of keeping you two from killing each other, right?" Pike asked his young officer, the questions more rhetorical than actual.

"Yeah, sure. I get it. Look, Lieu. I just want to know if I fucked up. Bones is a pretty good guy, and his shit's in the right place. He's a little stiff and rough around the edges, but when you get down to it, he's pretty harmless," Jim concluded. Aggravated, he added, "And, I wish I knew why this whole thing with him bothers me so much. It shouldn't, but it does."

The longtime cop couldn't hold back the smile that spread across his face. "It's because you care, Jim. Despite what you want people to believe, you're concerned about the people around you. It's another quality I saw in you that I thought would make you a good cop. Even if the majority of the public doesn't believe it, we do like doing things that doesn't involve tossing people in jail, and it's important that we find officers who share that mentality," Pike replied. "What I saw in you, I also saw that in your partner."

Kirk barked a laugh, incredulous when he processed Pike's words. "You're telling me," he started, motioning to his chest, "That Bones and I share personality traits? Come on! That's bunk! We couldn't be more different."

"At first glance, you might be right. But, if you stop and think about it, you two do share a couple of common traits while being vastly different all at the same time," Pike said.

Jim scrunched up his face in confusion and leaned back casually in his chair, practically becoming one with the inanimate object providing support for his body. "How? Enlighten me, oh great master."

Pike responded by rolling his eyes at Jim's cheesy, overdone, Asian accent before he steeled his face. "Let me put it to you bluntly, Jim: your impulsiveness worries me." The lieutenant put his hand up to stop Kirk's inevitable retort before it could get going. "Just wait. As concerning as your leap before looking attitude is, I wasn't just bullshitting you when I said it's also a quality I think this department needs. It gives you ingenuity and a way to think outside the box, and it keeps you fresh. But, I also know enough to distinguish the fact that it could get you into some big time trouble one day. And that is why I gave you McCoy as your training officer. His job is to keep you from killing yourself, and to whip you into a good cop along the way."

"Okay, that's fair," Jim acknowledged, counting the times mentally that McCoy already saved his ass. He turned in his chair and crossed his legs. "But what does that have to do with my partner going all stony silent on me?"

Pike sighed and took another drink of his coffee. "One of the things Len learned really well was the tactical game of this job. He knows, better than just about anyone here, how to work the odds in his favor. Do you really think that he just waltzes into every situation on a wing and a prayer like you do?" Pike asked when Jim's face knit up in confusion. "As I said, there's a reason he's your FTO. He's thinking every second of every day what the odds are of someone getting hurt, weighing the risks to the public's safety and to your safety when he tells you to do something. The fact that you don't follow those rules, that you're so different and that you just go - it concerns him, even more than it does me. So when you didn't stop today when he told you to break off pursuit, I could see that it scared him."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "So what? Why the hell would that concept scare him? It would have been my ass if I'd fallen off that building today, and if I did, I was dumb enough to have deserved it."

"Listen to what I'm saying. It's not. It's _not_ just your ass. It's his, too, but not in the way you're thinking," Pike replied. He exhaled, long and hard and ran a hand through his hair. "I want to tell you a little story, Jim, so humor an old cop and just shut up and listen. About four years ago, maybe a little more, there were these two cops. They'd ridden together for a long time; one trained the other, and the chief had no intention of ever splitting them up because they were really effective as a pair. Between the two, they had the respect of their fellow officers, their superiors and the community. Even though the younger guy was smart and comparatively logical, he still worried the older one from time to time. But for years, the fears of the senior cop were unfounded."

Jim's eyes narrowed as he watched Pike expand on his narrative. The lieutenant leaned back in his chair, his eyes losing focus and drifting off into space as he lost himself in the story. But while Pike's vision may have been nonspecific, the emotions rolling over his face were not. He saw the barest hint of smile flirt with Pike's lips before it disappeared just as quickly. "But something happened," Kirk supplied.

Taking a drink of his coffee, Pike nodded grimly. "One normal, run-of-the-mill night, they were asked to provide perimeter support to a team of narcotics officers serving a search warrant on a suspected drug stash house. The boys from Narco did their homework, and they knew that there was supposed to be a large shipment of coke at the residence that night, straight from Mexico. According to their CI, there was a small window during which the house would be occupied thinly, and that's when the team set up their op. But when they got there, they realized that either their intel was wrong, or their CI turned on them. When they busted down the door, they discovered the house was full of people, all of whom bolted as soon as the ram hit the door. The warrant squad managed to keep most of the suspects in the house, but two males sitting closest to the back door managed to make it outside. They high tailed it away from the house and toward the perimeter the two uniformed officers were assigned to hold. Of course, they both gave chase."

Kirk swallowed back the lump the suddenly jumped into his throat. He knew this story. Well, he knew the scuttlebutt version of it, but he'd never heard the real deal. As a rookie, he also felt like he didn't have the right to ask either of the two people that had the first-hand knowledge: Pike and McCoy. It was visceral to hear it from one of the sources, and Jim realized that maybe he didn't _want_ to know what happened the night he heard McCoy was nearly killed. But, if Pike deemed it important enough to tell him something so personal, he would allow it, however hard it might actually be to hear.

"Len and I split up when the people they were chasing went separate ways. I followed the street level dealer while McCoy went after an unknown male," Pike recalled, voice flat and clinical. It was like he was narrating a how-to on the proper way to change the bag on a vacuum cleaner, instead of talking about what was probably one of the most traumatic events of his career. So deeply engrossed in the story, he didn't realize he'd slipped into memoir mode. "What they didn't realize was that the guy McCoy was chasing was the supplier's supplier, who was also wanted for three murders in two different states, along with a slew of trafficking and money laundering charges. He was a big, angry motherfucker, and he wasn't going to go back to prison."

Jim exhaled a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding in. Even with the best planning and all the information and the contingency sketches, how quickly life could go to shit was a testament to the dangers of law enforcement as a profession. It was something Kirk tried to remember daily, and as he listened to Pike tell his story, he started to realize that he was glad McCoy drilled that fact into his thick skull each and every day.

"I caught the previously ID'ed dealer fairly quickly. The warrant team was still occupied inside the house, so the only man left to catch was the guy Len was after. I cuffed my collar and was rounding the corner with him in tow when he heard a struggle coming from the yard of an adjacent house. I shoved the guy in the nearest car and ran around the side of the house in time to see the bigger suspect knee McCoy full force in the side of the head. You know how hard Len's head is, but that knee stunned him long enough the supplier to grab onto the holster on his duty rig and rip the gun off his body. He aimed it at McCoy and managed to squeeze off four rounds, all at point blank range."

Pike paused, biting his lip while he swallowed hard a couple of times. A set of shaky hands picked up the mug of coffee sitting on the corner of the desk. The lieutenant took a swig, grimacing at the bitter taste of the liquid as he swallowed. Setting the mug down, he continued, reserved and almost quiet. "I drew my weapon, and without conscious thought, fired eight rounds while the suspect advanced on me. Six of those were hits. One lucky shot pierced the guy's heart, and he was dead almost before he hit the ground. It's the only time I've used it in my entire career."

"Damn good shooting," Kirk found himself muttering almost on instinct. Pike, if he heard it, made no acknowledgement. Jim licked his lips, the million-dollar question burning in his mind. With trepidation, he asked, "And Bones?"

"McCoy's vest caught two of the three rounds. The third grazed his face and ricocheted off the ground. The fourth missed the Kevlar and hit him right under the collarbone. It went straight through and lodged in the house behind him. Typical of your partner – he was shot and bleeding, and he tried to get up to make sure no one in the house was hurt from the gunfire."

Kirk snorted. "And _I'm_ the one who's nuts? What the hell? Did he not notice the fragments of metal and new holes in his body that aren't supposed to be there?"

"Apparently not."

Kirk sighed. "Bones was lucky that night. Someone was watching out for him."

"Yes he was, in more ways than one. I read the autopsy report afterwards on the guy I…shot," the lieutenant said, hesitating as he tried to find wording that didn't make him uncomfortable. "He was so strung out on PCP, I was surprised he could hold a gun steady, let alone fire it. It's what saved Len's life. Ironic, huh? The stuff we go there to clean up is what ends up saving your partner," Pike said with a sad, regretful chuckle.

Jim felt his chest constrict painfully when saw the anguished look in Pike's eyes. The lieutenant's normally rock steady hands trembled nearly imperceptibly, but the chatter of the Chris' wedding ring against the hard surface of the desk gave him away. Kirk exhaled, closing his eyes as every cop's worst nightmare played out behind his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again, he took a deep, calming breath and forced his gaze to meet his superior's. "You had to shoot, Lieu. That guy would have killed Bones if you would have given him another second."

"I know that, Kirk. It doesn't make taking someone's life, even a lowlife piece of shit like that, any easier," Pike answered, scrubbing one hand over his face. "It's something I wish I didn't have to do, but at the same time, I knew it had to be done. I'm not proud of it, despite what people think. I did it to save McCoy, and for no other reason."

There was an empty platitude on the tip of Jim's tongue, but he wisely held it back. Undoubtedly, Pike heard them all, and then some. Clearly, the incident still haunted the lieutenant, and Jim wasn't foolish enough to think that he could make it better with a couple of well placed words. Instead, he settled for honesty when he said seriously, "I'm glad you did." Smirking, he added, "I mean, if you hadn't, you might be stuck with me right now!" Jim said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Pike snorted in response, glad for the sudden influx of levity to an otherwise bleak story. "I think I'd have rather shot myself."

"Oh, come on, Lieu. You recruited me, so I can't be that bad."

"I recruited you for someone else to train. I've done my civic duty by babysitting the new cops," Pike fired right back, grinning over his coffee mug.

"Yeah, okay. I'll spot you that." Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But in all seriousness, why tell me this? It's not that I don't appreciate the information because I do, but I don't get what this has to do with me and Bones not getting along."

"Call it a bit of forced déjà vu, or some comeuppance for your partner. Of all the people here, McCoy is hardest on himself. That stoic, enigmatic front you see from him every day hides a lot, mainly uncertainty about how well he thinks he can do his job. He's human, Kirk, subject to the same insecurities and fallibility as you and I. But, he's just had more practice at hiding it," Pike said before snapping his jaw closed. "He's taken your training very seriously, and your safety is his paramount concern. He will do everything in his power to make sure you come home every night. If that means he has to give you the silent treatment to keep from killing you himself, he'll do just that. Risk to you and the community versus reward, Kirk. That's what he's thinking about."

Jim sat, digesting the information Pike gave him. The picture was beginning to come more into focus. "So, when I disobeyed him tonight, he's not mad because I wouldn't listen, he was pissed because threw another X factor into the mix?"

"Exactly."

Kirk shook his head, trying to make sense of the information he was being given. "Lieu, don't get me wrong – it's awesome he thinks of me this way, but we're cops. There's not exactly a whole element of control we have in our jobs. We're reactionary and what we do and how we respond is dictated by the criminals we're chasing."

Pike took sip of his coffee. "Yes, but when you didn't stop, you took out the one little bit of control he had over the situation."

"That's what this is about. Control," Kirk stated.

Pike nodded. "Partially, but it's definitely not everything."

In an instant, everything clicked in Jim's head. All the pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place, and with it, Kirk had the understanding of McCoy he was seeking. He looked Pike in the eye and held the older man's gaze while he made it apparent he was crystal clear. "This was never about me, was it? It's about him being afraid. He's worried that I'm going to do something crazy that's going to get me killed, and after it's all done, he'll spend the rest of his life wondering what he should have done differently to prevent it," Kirk hypothesized, just cutting off the, '_As you would have_,' that was about to tumble out of his mouth towards the man seated opposite him.

Chris chugged the remaining half of his coffee, sat back and smiled. Jim just hit every single point he was hoping to make. "I've got to get back to work, and you should go home. Get out of here, Kirk."

"Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. The TiVo is calling me, and the IA Gestapo beckons you. I mean, I have to ask: do you think Spock's human, because he's like a machine," Jim said, eyeing the piles of papers that were not magically shrinking. Kirk sat and contemplated for a few extra moments. But instead of rising to his feet and making his way out of the lieutenant's hair, he reached across the desk and picked up Pike's iPod. "Can I ask you something, Lieu?"

"You can ask. I might not answer."

When Kirk went through Pike's iPod, he was really surprised to see everything from Evanescence to War on in the selection. But, as he thought about it, the little pieces started to fit, even if they had shock value up front. He powered the small black MP3 player up and skipped to a miniature playlist stuck between the workout music and calming sounds. He held up the iPod, making sure the list was visible to his superior. "You know, there was one playlist in here that made no sense to me whatsoever. It had a bunch of random stuff on it, from 3 Doors Down to Johnny Cash, though I did like 'Take This Job and Shove It.' I thought at first that there was no rhyme or reason for it, but now I get it. These are all about him, aren't they? About Bones, right?"

Pike's lip curled up in exasperation. He reached across his desk and snatched his property from Kirk's startled hands, growling when Jim held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Give me that, Jim. It's none of your damned business anyway." Pike scrolled through quickly to make sure all the songs were still there. He put a lot of thought into the music he felt best described his former partner, and the eclecticism of each selection was meant to reflect a piece of the multifaceted personality Len worked so hard to hide. It would be a pain in the ass to have to repopulate the thing from scratch.

"Okay, okay," Kirk laughed. "Easy there, Killer."

Pike pursed his lips and pointed one finger at Kirk. "I'm glad you didn't screw with this too badly, and that nothing's missing. I'd feel horrible for you if I my missing playlists would force me to tape the screen captures I've got of your most played songs to the announcement board," he said, deadpanned. "You know, because the nearly dozen plays of 'Dragosta Din Tei' is so appropriate for a cop like yourself."

Kirk threw his head back and laughed out loud, completely unruffled by his boss' threat. Instead of sputtering or backpedaling like most macho cops, Jim slapped his hand down on the desk and said, "Do not knock Romania. That song is awesome."

Pike sat back in his chair, twisting the end of the pen he was holding between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. "I thought your lack of shame was an urban legend. The fact you don't know what embarrassment is actually scares me. Now get the hell out of here and go get some rest."

"Yes, sir. I think I can do that now." Jim stood and leap frogged his way to the door. When he reached the threshold, he turned, and tapping his fingers on the doorframe, said, "So, should I start calling him Rainman now, with all the odds predictions?"

Pike smiled slyly. "No, that doesn't work. Believe me. I tried."

"Duly noted, Lieutenant." Heartfelt, Kirk added, "Thank you sir, for all of this. I think it was overdue."

"It was Jim, but I'm glad it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be," Pike answered, clearly catching Jim's double entendre. "My own experiences with McCoy aside, it wouldn't be fair for either of you, and I'd hate to lose you guys. You're both good cops, but don't you dare let that go to your head. I don't need it to be any bigger than it already is."

"Right," Jim replied, thinking of the thousands of ways his partnership with Bones could have gone spectacularly nuclear. He was glad their relationship wasn't about to come to that point. Kirk grabbed his jacket from its place on the floor and took one step out the door before Pike's voice stopped him.

"Oh, Kirk?" Pike asked, watching as Kirk halted, one foot hanging up in the air. The young cop executed an about face and looked his superior in the eye.

"Yeah?" Jim replied, spinning the top of his helmet in the palm of his right hand.

"He wouldn't act like this unless he really liked you. Remember that."

Jim nodded his head and strode silently out the front door of the station. The conversation with Pike gave him a lot to think about, and he needed to clear his head. Jim hopped on his bike and pulled out of the lot, heading back toward his apartment. He exited off the freeway and hit some of his favorite offbeat country roads, relishing in the sensation of the wind rushing through the vents in his helmet. While he rode, he felt all the aggravations and stress from his day start to melt away as he zipped along. Even though roads in the Midwest weren't exactly twisty, just the fact he was zooming past the corn on a motorcycle was enough for him. Kirk let his mind go blank as he focused only the ride, dipping and weaving when he could for the maximum effect.

He wasn't sure how long he was riding, but he knew that it wasn't a short trip. Kirk filled up with gas on the way into the station in the afternoon, but the flashing orange warning light on the dash caught his attention. He pulled off at the nearest station and gave the thirsty machine some much needed fuel, resetting the trip odometer at the same time. One hundred and twenty six miles in a single day was a nice ride for any motorcyclist. It was especially impressive for a full-on sportbike that wasn't as comfortable as say, a Honda Goldwing.

Kirk looked around and neatly realized where he was. If he headed west about a mile, he would be at Bones' apartment. And after his conversation with Pike, Kirk would be lying if he weren't at least slightly concerned about his partner. Clearly, there was a lot more to Leonard McCoy than Kirk thought, but he also could say the same about himself. He also knew that sometimes, Bones would retreat to the comfort of a bottle when he needed to escape, and Kirk sincerely hoped that tonight wasn't one of those nights.

Since he was already out in the vicinity of McCoy's home, Kirk figured he could just swing by and offer the olive branch of peace. If the feeling he got from Pike was true, making the first move was hard for Bones, especially when it involved matters of mortality. For Jim, it wasn't a big deal, and if it got him a happier partner, it'd be just an extra bonus.

Jim jammed his helmet back on his head and took off in the direction of McCoy's apartment. He pulled into the lot, for the first (and probably only) time cursing the loud, throaty growl of the exhaust on his bike. The sound was echoing off the twin buildings, and he was sure the entire neighborhood just heard him pull up. But as he searched for a place to park, Jim caught sight of a familiar Tahoe in the space next to Bones' old winter beater pickup. As he pulled closer to the black SUV, he saw two stickers in the back window that he instantly recognized: the Iowa City PD logo and the white 'I Am The Stig' decal he heard Scotty gave Pike as a joke gift a few years back.

Tilting his head to the side, Jim came to a stop and flipped his visor up. He shifted the bike into neutral and stretched his back and hands, content to let the Gixxer idle between his legs. Kirk peered up at the patio style north-facing window on the third floor, knowing that he was looking at McCoy's living room. At almost two in the morning, it was one of the few places still illuminated in the complex. The soft glowing light that spilled from behind the blinds signified that Bones and Pike were both still awake, probably playing cards and just shooting the shit. He contemplated going up, but he knew that it was probably unnecessary. His presence might have made McCoy uncomfortable anyway, so Kirk wisely decided against it. A shower and his bed were calling, and calling loudly.

With a smile on his face Jim flipped the visor to his helmet down, pulled in the clutch, popped the bike into first gear and executed a slow U-turn to get out of the lot. Kirk revved the engine and pulled on to the deserted street. It was an oddly comforting notion to Jim that Bones had people that cared about him, despite the prickly exterior designed to keep others away.

McCoy would forever be challenging, irritating, and sometimes a major buzzkill, but Jim finally understood a little more of what made the man tick. While he had no illusions that Bones was anything other than a damned good cop, he didn't realize how deeply the sergeant's concern for his rookie partner went. It was humbling and almost a little scary to find how seriously McCoy took his safety, and Kirk vowed that he would, someday, someday, repay the favor. He didn't know how, but he was damned sure he was going to find a way.

In the end, that was what partners did.

It was what _friends_ did.

**-FIN-**


End file.
